


A Different Kind of Crime Scene

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humour, John gets his bewildered expression out, Mentions of sex but no actual sex, Mrs Hudson gets a shock [and at her age too!], Sherlock gets disgusted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock plays a prank on Mycroft and you, the pair of you find a most creative way to get back at him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Crime Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy. :)

Your phone buzzes on the counter and your hand jerks from the picnic basket that you’d been steadily filling with egg and cress sandwiches, blueberries, red velvet cake and a flask of earl grey tea to pick it up.

 

Somewhere by the table, whilst he peers into his microscope Sherlock huffs at the interruption. 

 

You roll your eyes at the consulting detective, before you flick your h/c from your face and study the text, which was what had just arrived. 

 

_On my way. MH._

 

You smile at it for a moment, before you jerk back into life, close the picnic basket with a small thump and hurry off to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

 

“I have no idea why you’re making such an effort for my brother F/N,” Sherlock cannot help but call to your retreating back. 

 

“I wouldn't expect you to,” you call back over your shoulder and Sherlock huffs a little again, which causes you to smile. 

 

Two minutes later you are standing on the damp pavement, the picnic basket in your hands as you wait for Mycroft. You hope there isn't a traffic jam. He was really irate the last time you went out together and that happened. You’d rolled your eyes through most of that supposed date and taken several deep breaths but he’d still been tense so you’d abandoned the prospect of watching a film together at his flat and given his shoulders a massage instead. Oddly enough he hadn't seemed to mind. And a smile quirks your lips now at the memory of him as he’d hummed contentedly, of how you’d felt the vibration of it through your fingers, of how his shoulders had gotten more and more relaxed beneath your touch until he’d insisted on thanking you without words and spun around to kiss you. His tongue had darted against yours as it had flicked into your mouth…okay, so perhaps traffic isn't the worst thing that could happen, you muse. 

 

“Is everything all right, my dear?” a voice startles you and you blink to see Mycroft sitting in the back of his usual black car. The window is partly wound down as he stares at your face somewhat curiously, somewhat with amusement. And a light flush darts across your face with the agility and speed of a dancer as you realize that he’d managed to sneak up on you, in a car no less, without you noticing. Only to grow more prominent when you remember that he’s still waiting for an answer. So, “Y-Yes,” you manage.

 

He smiles and then opens the door a little, before he gestures for you to get in and then slides across to accommodate you. 

 

You slide the picnic basket in first and then get in yourself. 

 

From the windows of 221B Sherlock watches and then smirks slightly. 

 

*

 

The drive to the park takes longer than it should, probably longer than it would have taken to walk, but neither Mycroft nor you mind. He eyes your short, floral print dress and the f/c bracelet, which he got you, which is on your wrist appreciatively, whilst you nestle yourself against his grey suit jacket as much as you can, the picnic basket now by your feet. 

 

Once there Mycroft untangles himself from you, before he gets out first, and a small sound emanates from the crisp rustle of his suit as he does so. Then he grabs the picnic basket and his umbrella with one hand and stands back a little as he holds the door open for you in a gentlemanly fashion with his free hand. 

 

You smile, hop out and take a moment just to savour the warmth of the sun on your face. It is the most perfect spring day. It rained yesterday but the sun is now out to dry the glistening wet grass and make things smell fresh again. Everywhere you look the flowers are peeking out of their buds in an array of colours, red, yellow and white amongst them. Then you look at Mycroft and he is perfect too. His eyes seem to dance in the light and his jaw is more defined beneath the tender look that he is casting your way. You don’t know it but he loves the peaceful expression on your face in that moment. A beat passes between you, before he closes the car door behind you and then offers you his arm. You take it with a smile and then together you stroll towards the park gates. 

 

As you pass between them you notice that the park is mostly deserted and you feel grateful for the fact. Mycroft and you once came here when the park was full of screaming children running back and forth and although the expression of pure distaste on Mycroft’s face had caused you to smile you’d been very much aware of how uncomfortable they’d made him feel. Today though all is calm. A light breeze rustles its way through the blades of grass and an oak tree stands proudly in the park’s corner. It is this tree, which Mycroft and you make your way over to. This tree, which he takes his jacket off under and spreads out like a blanket for you both to sit on. This tree, which you find out what Sherlock has done under. 

 

Everything is fine to begin with. Mycroft drops the basket and his umbrella neatly onto the grass, whilst you admire a white butterfly, which flits past, before you sit down and feel the warmth that radiates from Mycroft’s jacket on your bare knees. But then you flip open the picnic basket and get out the silver flask of tea and that is where things begin to go wrong. You know something is off as soon as you pick it up. It doesn't feel warm for one thing and it feels far lighter than it should. You frown and Mycroft crouches down, his knees resting on the jacket as his eyes peer at you concernedly. You ignore his questioning gaze for the moment and just take the lid off the flask instead. You notice that there seems to be something inside it. Something square and compact and most definitely not liquid. Scratch that lots of square little somethings. So whilst both irritation and confusion run through you, you tip out the contents of the flask, before you jump up with a yell, a horrified look on your face. For the square little things are condom packets. Lots and lots of condom packets, which are now spread out across the picnic basket and the grass and Mycroft’s jacket and-oh _God,_ Mycroft!

 

“Oh God! I didn't do that! I mean I packed the picnic basket but I didn't, I don’t know how…” you trail off somewhat pathetically as your face burns redder than ever and your eyes are barely able to look at him, the most they can do is look at the side of his face. 

 

“Oh, I think we can both guess who the responsible party is F/N,” Mycroft replies, his tone slightly icy, for he feels angry that Sherlock has made you feel so awkward and embarrassed and angry that he has come between your special time together, “But as it happens I have an idea for the perfect revenge.”

 

“You do?” you squeak out. 

 

Mycroft nods, before he stands up straight, bends to pick up his jacket and brushes it off quickly, before he puts it back on. Then he grabs your hand and as he does so you turn to look slightly despairingly at the picnic basket. 

 

“I think the food might be all right,” you say, because really you don’t want Sherlock to spoil your picnic. 

 

“You do yourself and me a great disservice if you can really imagine us sitting there amongst all of my little brother’s mess,” Mycroft replies somewhat coldly, before at your uncertain expression his face softens slightly and he smiles a little mischievously as he adds, “And for my little plan to work we’ll have to be a little creative so we’ll need a bit of time to prepare.” 

 

“Creative huh?” you smile.

 

“Indeed,” he murmurs, loving the slight naughty twist to your voice, and you can feel his warm breath on your face, before he draws you closer to him and you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him. He pulls away a little, before you are ready for him to and he smiles at your slightly parted lips, before, “I'm afraid people might get rather the wrong impression if they see us locked for too long, surrounded by such…objects.”

 

You can’t help but grin, before you pick up the picnic basket and his umbrella, which you pass to him; tug him by the hand and say, “All right then, what’s the plan?” 

 

He doesn't answer. He just quirks an eyebrow at you and lets go of your hand. 

 

On your way back across the park it begins to rain and although it is light enough that you don’t mind it hitting your h/c hair, face, arms and dress Mycroft tuts and then puts his umbrella up. You can’t understand why he tuts. After all he insists on carrying it around everywhere so surely a chance to actually use it must be good? But anyway he tuts and raises it so that it covers the pair of you. You smile at him and move a little closer to him, close enough to smell his cologne and close enough for his heart to jump happily at the gesture. Then just before you leave the park you both step aside to allow a group of three men with their black hoods up pass through the entrance. One of them, a spiky blond with thin lips and a nose piercing, gazes at you and his dark eyes roam up and down your body. Mycroft, his body tense, for he hates the gleam of something in the youth’s eyes, grasps your wrist tightly at once with his free hand. But the man just smirks at the pair of you, before he passes and although you feel relieved once you are out of the park apparently Mycroft feels differently, for he doesn't let go of your wrist until you are standing safely by the car.

 

Then to your surprise Mycroft tells Anton, his driver, to pull up at a small shop on the way to Baker Street, but instead of getting out himself he murmurs something into Anton’s ear. Once he’s done Anton turns further towards him to look at him out of startled eyes. 

 

“With absolute discretion,” Mycroft says a little louder as if to remind Anton of something he just said. 

 

Anton nods hurriedly, clears his throat, switches the ignition off and gets out. 

 

You look at Mycroft curiously again but all he does is smile serenely at you once more with that annoying expression on his face, the one that gives nothing away. 

 

You shift uncomfortably and frown as you ponder what on earth Mycroft can be plotting. And it seems to take an age, before Anton returns carrying a plastic bag, which he passes to Mycroft once he gets back into the car. 

 

Mycroft peers inside it, before after a little hum and nod of approval he moves it closer to you and allows you to peer inside. 

 

“Mycroft did you just buy all the condoms in that shop?” you exclaim a sentence you never thought you’d say. 

 

Mycroft just smiles his trademark thin-lipped smile and watches as you lean back into your seat and begin to think over what you now know. He can tell when you've jumped to what you think is the right conclusion by the small, satisfied grin that appears on your face. But he knows that you’re unlikely to have deduced everything that he’s got planned. 

 

Indeed when you arrive at 221B you cast him a rather startled look when after he straightens the knocker and you unlock the door he enters the hallway and goes, not upstairs, but across to Mrs Hudson’s flat, before he raps smartly upon her door. 

 

When Mrs Hudson answers she casts him a rather serious, questioning look, before her face softens as she catches sight of you and she’s about to address you when Mycroft says, “I wonder if you could perhaps look out for my brother and John on their return? I believe they've gone out to see Lestrade, yes?”-Mrs Hudson nods-“Perhaps then when they do you could mention that you've been hearing rather, um, excited noises coming from upstairs? Laughter and such?” and Mrs Hudson looks confused now so he tries to emphasize the point by showing her the contents of the bag. 

 

“Oooh my,” she gasps out, clutching her heart and if you hadn't been so horrified by what he’d just shown her then you might have laughed. 

 

But Mycroft in all his sincerity asks her, “Can you do that for me?” 

 

She cannot speak so she just nods instead and Mycroft sends her a smile full of satisfaction, before she reverses back into her kitchen and closes the door. 

 

“Mycroft,” you begin and your voice contains both a mix of uncertainty and a ‘what the hell was that?’ question. 

 

But, “All in good time F/N,” Mycroft tells you, before, “Now come,” and he darts past you now and steps smartly upstairs. 

 

“So we’re just hiding them in here, right?” you ask as you stand by the doorway, whilst Mycroft darts back and forth like a graceful gazelle and slips a condom through the eyes of the skull, another one on the mantelpiece, one in the fridge in between two fingers and the sight makes Mycroft’s lips curl distastefully, whilst another goes in one of Sherlock’s prized test tubes.

 

Mycroft straightens up a little and smiles at your words, whilst his eyes glitter with a rare, unhurried mischief. Then, “Are you just going to let me do all the work?” he purrs. 

 

“God no,” you reply and he smiles as you dart forwards and grab a load of condoms out of the bag, getting into the game as you start hiding them not only amongst Sherlock’s things but John’s too. 

 

Then once there is barely a section of the living room and bathroom that does not have a condom in close proximity Mycroft and you straighten up and stare at each other for a moment, your faces flushed slightly in delight and both of your eyes sparkling at the unexpected thrill of this silly, little game. 

 

His lip quirks upwards once more, his gaze intense enough for you to be frozen into place as he approaches you slowly. “And now,” he murmurs and he is so close that you can feel his breath caress your face and feel the way it makes your heart quicken, before he runs his hand down from your shoulder, around your arm, until he ends it by linking his fingers with your own, “We have to be a little creative.” His other hand finds your waist and after a careful look at your face to check whether or not you are comfortable he guides you to Sherlock’s bedroom. 

 

“Mycroft,” you utter warningly, not quite sure what’s going on. 

 

But all he offers you is a small smile, before he lets go of you and goes across to ruffle up Sherlock’s duvet.

 

“What are you doing?” you ask, and a small giggle escapes your mouth along with your words. 

 

His eyes flick up to you momentarily now, before they go back to studying the duvet, then, “What possibly could horrify my brother more than finding constant reminders of something that scares him amongst his mess is the idea of us taking advantage of his prank and getting, let’s say, rather carried away by it all.”

 

You smirk now, getting more relaxed into the game, “But it won’t be quite enough to just ruffle his duvet, will it?” you ask with a false innocence, your eyes wide, and although he is not looking at you, you can see his lip quirk upwards now. “We’ll have to make it look a bit more convincing than that won’t we?”

 

He stops what he is doing now, then abandons that side of the bed for yours, his long legs making short work of the distance, before he does half a spin and traps you between him and the bed and then his mouth finds yours. 

 

You release a shaky breath into his mouth at the sudden contact and your hands move up to grab at his shoulders, whilst his hands steady your waist, before he bites down onto your bottom lip, which makes your lips part slightly to give his tongue access. The kiss is frantic and clumsy and your hands rake through his hair and mess it up, before he pulls out of the kiss panting and bends his lips to your neck. You gasp a little and nearly stumble onto the bed, but Mycroft steadies you effortlessly and continues to work on your neck causing you to moan, before his head straightens and his eyes fix on yours. His pupils are blown wide and you want so badly to continue the kiss so you jerk your head forwards but Mycroft jerks his head back and then, “Shhh,” he says, before he raises a finger and tilts his head to the door. 

 

You pause and listen. You can hear the sound of movement and perhaps talking from downstairs. 

 

He nods, lets go of you, throws his jacket off carelessly onto the bed, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt and then tugs it so that it hangs loosely over his trousers, before he adjusts his belt so that it is almost done up but not quite. Then he takes a condom packet out of his pocket, rips it free and tosses it into the bin, before he takes in your appearance and his eyes ghost over your no doubt swollen lips and rumpled dress. Then he finds your eyes, nods once more and exits the bedroom. 

 

His timing is perfect as usual and he just makes his exit, with you close behind, at the same time that Sherlock and John bound into the living room. The boys turn towards you both at once. Sherlock’s eyes narrow and John’s face immediately turns into a kind of bewildered puzzlement. 

 

“Erm, were you just in Sherlock’s bedroom? What were you doing in there?” John asks and your face is hot, whilst your eyes prefer to look at the floor than at either Sherlock or John, despite the small smile that is playing on your lips. 

 

Mycroft however is calm, “Yes, actually we just came out to thank you brother dear,” he says. But there is still a lot of confusion on John’s face and Sherlock’s expression is beginning to grow very dark indeed so Mycroft elaborates, “For the gifts? I must admit we haven’t made use of them all yet but then, after all, we did want the first place to be somewhere with you in mind. Think of it as our way of saying thank you,” and he links your hand with his now, a smile upon his face and you want to laugh. 

 

“Mrs Hudson said she heard laughter and…” John begins; still not getting it despite all the evidence being there, before he trails off as what Mycroft and you have supposedly been doing hits him. And, “Oh my God,” he says, and he looks between Mycroft and you now. Mycroft is wearing his ‘yes indeed’ look and you a grin, which you can’t contain. “In, in Sherlock’s bed…” John trails off and you can’t help but giggle now and Mycroft sends you a fond look. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft begins as he looks at John now, “I must say it isn't quite as comfortable as mine, but then that’s to be expected.”

 

“No,” Sherlock says suddenly, his gaze intense, for he has been studying every detail of you both all this time and he steps forwards now, his head low, slightly predatory. 

 

“I'm sorry?” Mycroft asks breezily as he raises one of his eyebrows. 

 

“I don’t believe you, you don’t look”-

 

“And how would you know what people look like after sex Sherlock?” Mycroft interrupts and Sherlock scowls, whilst you giggle again, which causes a triumphant gleam to appear in Mycroft’s eyes. 

 

Then without another word Sherlock pushes past you both to go to his bedroom. John quickly follows and after exchanging a look both Mycroft and you follow suit. 

 

Sherlock makes a growling noise in his throat as he sees the rumpled duvet and Mycroft’s jacket upon it, whilst John’s mouth drops open slightly at the scene, before he goes across to peer into Sherlock’s bin and wrenches his head back after a moment, then, “Sherlock,” he utters and Sherlock casts John a look, his eyes dark, “There’s evidence,” and John points into the bin now, before Sherlock peers into it and sees the crumpled condom. 

 

It gets the desired reaction that Mycroft intended for, “Oh God! _God!_ You’re both ruining my life! I can’t even look at you any more!” Sherlock yells stroppily, before he storms out past a very amused Mycroft and a grinning you and goes to yell down the stairs, “Mrs Hudson!” and there’s no immediate response so, “Mrs Hudson!” he tries again. 

 

“Oh Sherlock, must you shout? And at my age too. Whatever’s the matter?” Mrs Hudson scolds him once she turns the corner of the stairs and enters the living room. 

 

“You’re going to have to clean my room at once…it’s been…contaminated,” and now Sherlock turns his gaze from Mrs Hudson to shoot both Mycroft and you a very dirty look. 

 

Mrs Hudson follows the direction of his stare and upon seeing Mycroft and you looking so dishevelled she lets out a surprised, “Oohh my!” before she asks, “Could you tidy yourselves up dears? It’s not decent, is it, to be walking around in such a state? Not where everyone can see you too.”

 

Mycroft gives her a little bow of his head, before, “Certainly,” he says and then he attempts to lead you by the hand back into Sherlock’s bedroom. 

 

But as quick as anything Sherlock blocks the door and says with his voice full of certainty, “You’re not going back in there!” 

 

“My jacket brother,” Mycroft reminds him. 

 

Sherlock pulls a bit of a face and thinks about it all for a moment and Mycroft feels very amused by his brother’s internal struggle, before, “Wait here,” Sherlock commands, looking at you both sternly, which causes Mycroft to raise an eyebrow at him and warily Sherlock turns his back on you, before he enters his room. Mycroft and you exchange an amused glance. Then just a few minutes later Sherlock returns having found a creative way of carrying Mycroft’s jacket. For instead of merely carrying it and throwing it as quickly as possible at Mycroft he has picked it up using a small fishing net and carried it out that way. And you bite your lip to keep your laughter down at the way he stretches it out towards Mycroft. 

 

“You have my thanks,” Mycroft tells Sherlock, his voice laced with amusement as he plucks the jacket out of the net and puts it back on carefully. 

 

Sherlock throws the empty net back into his bedroom or the scene of the crime as he now thinks of it and then turns his attention on John, “You’ll have to go out and get some disinfectant. I can’t sleep in there until it’s _properly_ clean,” he says and John gives Sherlock a look as if to ask if that is really necessary. But Sherlock just raises an eyebrow at him and says, “Unless you want to swap rooms for now?” and John just shakes his head, grabs his jacket and wallet and makes to leave. 

 

“Come on My, we’ll go to mine and er, clean up,” you say, and after Mycroft fetches his umbrella, the two of you make to do just that. 

 

But before you can leave Sherlock growls, “No,” and both Mycroft and you turn to look at him. “I don’t want him”- and now Sherlock jabs a finger at Mycroft-“Contaminating these flats for any longer. You can go back to 221C if you wish but I’d much rather he left entirely.”

 

“But then he won’t be able to tidy himself up, before he leaves,” you begin innocently, “And what if Lestrade or someone happens to see him. Do you really want everyone knowing about this Sherly?” 

 

Mycroft chuckles pleasantly at the nickname and Sherlock glares at you. But then, “Fine,” he pouts, “Go there quickly and _then_ leave!”

 

You chuckle and drag Mycroft out past Mrs Hudson and back downstairs. 

 

As soon as the main door to your flat is closed behind you, Mycroft and you just take a moment to grin at each other. 

 

Then as he’s tidying himself up you ask, “Do you really have to go?” 

 

“I'm afraid so my dear. As amusing as this has been, I've got a meeting at five that I can’t be late for,” he says and his eyes flick up to yours momentarily, before they fix on you for longer as he catches sight of the slightly disappointed expression on your face. So he brushes himself down one last time and comes to slip his arms around your waist. 

 

For a moment you don’t look at him as there is something you want to do but you’re not quite sure whether you feel brave enough to do it or not. Then you decide to so you catch his eyes with yours, hold their attention for a moment and reach up to pull something small and square from where its been tucked behind your ear, hidden from sight by your hair. You bite down a little on your bottom lip as you hold it up to him and he looks at it briefly, before his eyes fall upon yours again questioningly. 

 

“It’s a promise,” you say as you tuck it into the chest pocket of his jacket, “For the future, for actual picnics and…something more.”

 

He smiles at you and pats it, then “Thank you, I will treasure it forever,” he quips and you bark out a laugh, before he adds, “Or maybe just for a little longer,” and his lips are on yours again, whilst his hands curl around your waist to press against your back to draw you closer. You kiss him back, before you pull away with a soft puff, then, “Your meeting,” you remind him. 

 

“My meeting,” he repeats, not wanting to leave, and the words tickle your face, before he bends to kiss you quickly again and then steps away. And it’s funny because even though his hands are no longer on you, you can feel where they were just moments ago, feel the tingling on your lips from his kisses and see the desire that pools in his eyes as they look at you. 

 

“Go on then,” you tell him and he gives you one last smile, before he turns and nearly stumbles, which just causes you to laugh more. 

 

He throws you an indulgent smile over his shoulder and then he is gone. 

 

*

 

That night you go back upstairs to find the place reeking of disinfectant and to see Sherlock looking a little grouchy as he sits in his usual chair, whilst John and Mrs Hudson look exhausted from all the cleaning. 

 

“Oh hi F/N,” John says, a rag in his hand and sweat on his brow, “We’re almost done cleaning, even his highness there helped to begin with but”-

 

“Only so you wouldn't go through my things, _again_ ,” Sherlock interrupts and you can’t help but grin, whilst you simultaneously feel a little guilty about all the extra work that you've made Mrs Hudson and John do. 

 

“So um anyway, how are you?” John asks, unusually awkward and your face goes a little red, as you know he is thinking of the messy state you were in earlier. 

 

“I'm er good thank you,” you tell him, before you can’t help but confess, “But you do know that um, Mycroft and I, we didn't actually do anything in Sherlock’s bedroom.”

 

John just stares at you in disbelief, Sherlock jumps up with a growl and Mrs Hudson chooses that moment to sigh and put a hand on her aching hip. 

 

You jump backwards at once, before you turn and run all the way back to 221C, making sure to lock the door tightly behind you. For you've got a feeling that you might just have to stay there for a while!


End file.
